8:49AM
by herwhiteknight
Summary: Chloe can't sleep. She keeps thinking about Max and trains and what's missing. And there's a pen in her hand with only one thing left to do. Write a letter.


**A/N:** i had originally posted this on tumblr (found here :: post/124718303652/a-n-ive-got-no-words-for-this-one-i-had-written) because i _knew_ that FFnet wouldn't support the specific formatting that i would need for this fic. but... well, i wanted to put this out there because i want people to read it 'cause i'm pretty proud of of it. and the formatting is not _too_ messed up, so i'm alright to post it here. to get the full effect, however, i would suggest heading on over to that tumblr link :)

reviews either here or in tumblr tags are very much appreciated :D enjoy!

* * *

her eyes were red-rimmed and her eyeballs stung and itched. but the pen was in her hand again, the paper was in front of her and she figured that now was a good a time as any. she couldn't sleep anyways. might as well take their advice. finally.

she started with a poem. tried. to start with a poem. a letter was too personal. for the time being anyways. she'd work up to it. she would. she was getting desperate. desperate enough to take their advice, anyways

 _the romance of travel,_  
(that's how she began it. because that's where her head was. it was with max. with her words. with the good times they had)  
 _thats what Max had said  
_ - _at least  
the idea that you could go anywhere  
or nowhere  
or somewhere_

the pen dropped. it wasn't good enough. the words weren't.. well. they just weren't. so. a letter it was to be. then. she had to be ready. she had to do something. or the grief would crush her.

max,  
dearest max,  
my love,  
(nothing fit nothing sounded right nothing would ever be right)

 _no. max, i tried to write you a poem earlier today._  
(it was five minutes ago. wasn't it? how long had she been sitting here now? the clock perched to her right blurred, the numbers scooting irritatingly in and out of focus. didn't matter. the letter mattered now. even if she hated it)

 _(i tried to capture) (_ _to write about)_ _it was about how much... shit. im no good with words, max. i would rather... you know, dont you?  
you dont. fuck you, of course you dont. you cant. im so fucking angry max. i wish i could yell at you! slap you or, i dont know, roundhouse kick you in the face! god.  
_(that felt wrong it felt awful she shouldn't be saying that. but she was. because that's how she felt. and that's what they told her to do. so there. she did it. was doing it.)  
 _...shit. shit max.  
i cant sleep. did you know that?! i. cant. fucking. sleep. but you dont care about that, ill never know if youll ever care again! i dont know if you even can care. you cant, can you? fuck. this is just.. its bullshit, okay?_

half a page. not even. that's all she had managed to write before her emotions started blooming into thorns in her throat. fire burned in her eyes as she sat heavily back in her chair after several minutes of pacing and expletives started tumbling from her lips like ashes as she stared at the page again.

found the strength to pick up the pen again. they told her that this would help. so far, it wasn't.

 _i never thought that id finally do this. write a letter. to you, i mean._ _that shitty woman_ _the therapist told me to, but i never listened. until now, anyways. it's supposed to help with my grief. but i really just can't stand the looks mom gives me when she brings me meals. she gets this awful look, like someone... died. and tells me to eat. i dont. theres a plate of waffles next to me right now. but im saving them for you. if youll only come over and eat them. with me, and get whipped cream on our noses, like we used to when we were kids, you know? but you dont know..._

 _but im still so angry max! i shouldnt be, but i am, you know?! ... you dont, but whatever. you just fucking left me max. you left. again. you promised you wouldnt, but you did. you didnt even say goodbye! like, you didnt even me me a chance to say anything! and i hate you for it._

she dropped the pen again. stared at her last sentence. numb, she mumbled, "I'm yelling at a dead person." She got up, covered her red and puffy eyes with her blackest mascara. And prepared to go to the funeral.


End file.
